No More Learning

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
'Tis Don Caesar
That sends her to thee.

ISABELLA (to the MESSENGER).
How declared the Seer?
Speak! Was it not Don Manuel?

MESSENGER.
'Twas he!
Thy elder born.

ISABELLA.
Be blessings on his head
Which e'er it be; to him I owe a daughter,
Alas! that in this blissful hour, so long
Expected, long implored, some envious fiend
Should mar my joy! Oh, I must stem the tide
Of nature's transport! In her childhood's home
I see my daughter; me she knows not--heeds not--
Nor answers to a mother's voice of love
Ope, ye dear eyelids--hands be warm--and heave
Thou lifeless bosom with responsive throbs
To mine! 'Tis she! Diego, look! 'tis Beatrice!
The long-concealed--the lost--the rescued one!
Before the world I claim her for my own!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
New signs of terror to my boding soul
Are pictured;--in amazement lost I stand!
What light shall pierce this gloom of mystery?

ISABELLA (to the Chorus, who exhibit marks of confusion and
embarrassment).
Oh, ye hard hearts! Ye rude unpitying men!
A mother's transport from your breast of steel
Rebounds, as from the rocks the heaving surge!
I look around your train, nor mark one glance
Of soft regard. Where are my sons? Oh, tell me
Why come they not, and from their beaming eyes
Speak comfort to my soul? For here environed
I stand amid the desert's raging brood,
Or monsters of the deep!

DIEGO.
She opes her eyes!
She moves! She lives!

ISABELLA.
She lives! On me be thrown
Her earliest glance!

DIEGO.
See! They are closed again--
She shudders!

ISABELLA (to the Chorus).
Quick! Retire--your aspect frights her.

[Chorus steps back.

RORER.
Well pleased I shun her sight.

DIEGO.
With outstretched eyes,
And wonderstruck, she seems to measure thee.

BEATRICE.
Not strange those lineaments--where am I?

ISABELLA.
Slowly
Her sense returns.

DIEGO.
Behold! upon her knees
She sinks.

BEATRICE.
Oh, angel visage of my mother!

ISABELLA.
Child of my heart!

BEATRICE.
See! kneeling at thy feet
The guilty one!

ISABELLA.
I hold thee in my arms!
Enough--forgotten all!

DIEGO.
Look in my face,
Canst thou remember me?

BEATRICE.
The reverend brows
Of honest old Diego!

ISABELLA.
Faithful guardian
Of thy young years.

BEATRICE.
And am I once again
With kindred?

ISABELLA.
Naught but death shall part us more!

BEATRICE.
Will thou ne'er send me to the stranger?

ISABELLA.
Never!
Fate is appeased.

BEATRICE.
And am I next thy heart?
And was it all a dream--a hideous dream?
My mother! at my feet he fell! I know not
What brought me hither--yet 'tis well. Oh, bliss!
That I am safe in thy protecting arms;
They would have ta'en me to the princess, mother--
Sooner to death!

ISABELLA.
My daughter, calm thy fears;
Messina's princess----

BEATRICE.
Name her not again!
At that ill-omened sound the chill of death
Creeps through my trembling frame.

ISABELLA.
My child! but hear me----

BEATRICE.
She has two sons by mortal hate dissevered,
Don Manuel and Don Caesar----

ISABELLA.
'Tis myself!
Behold thy mother!

BEATRICE.
Have I heard thee? Speak!

ISABELLA.
I am thy mother, and Messina's princess!

BEATRICE.
Art thou Don Manuel's and Don Caesar's mother?

ISABELLA.
And thine! They are thy brethren whom thou namest.

BEATRICE.
Oh, gleam of horrid light!

ISABELLA.
What troubles thee?
Say, whence this strange emotion?

BEATRICE.
Yes! 'twas they!
Now I remember all; no dream deceived me,
They met--'tis fearful truth! Unhappy men!
Where have ye hid him?

[She rushes towards the Chorus; they turn away from her.
A funeral march is heard in the distance.

CHORUS.
Horror! Horror!

ISABELLA.
Hid!
Speak--who is hid? and what is true? Ye stand
In silent dull amaze--as though ye fathomed
Her words of mystery! In your faltering tones--
Your brows--I read of horrors yet unknown,
That would refrain my tongue! What is it? Tell me!
I will know all! Why fix ye on the door
That awe-struck gaze? What mournful music sounds?

[The march is heard nearer.

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
It comes! it comes! and all shall be declared
With terrible voice. My mistress! steel thy heart,
Be firm, and bear with courage what awaits thee--
For more than women's soul thy destined griefs
Demand.

ISABELLA.
What comes? and what awaits me? Hark
With fearful tones the death-wail smites mine ear--
It echoes through the house! Where are my sons?

[The first Semi-chorus brings in the body of DON MANUEL
on a bier, which is placed at the side of the stage.
A black pall is spread over it.

ISABELLA, BEATRICE, DIEGO.

Both Choruses.

First Chorus (CAJETAN).

With sorrow in his train,
From street to street the King of Terror glides;
With stealthy foot, and slow,
He creeps where'er the fleeting race
Of man abides
In turn at every gate
Is heard the dreaded knock of fate,
The message of unutterable woe!

BERENGAR.

When, in the sere
And autumn leaves decayed,
The mournful forest tells how quickly fade
The glories of the year!
When in the silent tomb oppressed,
Frail man, with weight of days,
Sinks to his tranquil rest;
Contented nature but obeys
Her everlasting law,--
The general doom awakes no shuddering awe!
But, mortals, oh! prepare
For mightier ills; with ruthless hand
Fell murder cuts the holy band--
The kindred tie: insatiate death,
With unrelenting rage,
Bears to his bark the flower of blooming age!

CAJETAN.

When clouds athwart the lowering sky
Are driven--when bursts with hollow moan
The thunder's peal--our trembling bosoms own
The might of awful destiny!
Yet oft the lightning's glare
Darts sudden through the cloudless air:--
Then in thy short delusive day
Of bliss, oh! dread the treacherous snare;
Nor prize the fleeting goods in vain,
The flowers that bloom but to decay!
Nor wealth, nor joy, nor aught but pain,
Was e'er to mortal's lot secure:--
Our first best lesson--to endure!

ISABELLA.
What shall I hear? What horrors lurk beneath
This funeral pall?

[She steps towards the bier, but suddenly pauses,
and stands irresolute.

Some strange, mysterious dread
Enthrals my sense. I would approach, and sudden
The ice-cold grasp of terror holds me back!

[To BEATRICE, who has thrown herself between her and the bier.

Whate'er it be, I will unveil----

[On raising the pall she discovers the body of DON MANUEL.

Eternal Powers! it is my son!

[She stands in mute horror. BEATRICE sinks to the ground
with a shriek of anguish near the bier.

CHORUS.
Unhappy mother! 'tis thy son. Thy lips
Have uttered what my faltering tongue denied.

ISABELLA.
My soul! My Manuel! Oh, eternal grief!
And is it thus I see thee? Thus thy life
Has bought thy sister from the spoiler's rage?
Where was thy brother? Could no arm be found
To shield thee? Oh, be cursed the hand that dug
These gory wounds! A curse on her that bore
The murderer of my son! Ten thousand curses
On all their race!

CHORUS.
Woe! Woe!

ISABELLA.
And is it thus
Ye keep your word, ye gods? Is this your truth?
Alas for him that trusts with honest heart
Your soothing wiles! Why have I hoped and trembled?
And this the issue of my prayers! Attend,
Ye terror-stricken witnesses, that feed
Your gaze upon my anguish; learn to know
How warning visions cheat, and boding seers
But mock our credulous hopes; let none believe
The voice of heaven!
When in my teeming womb
This daughter lay, her father, in a dream
Saw from his nuptial couch two laurels grow,
And in the midst a lily all in flames,
That, catching swift the boughs and knotted stems
Burst forth with crackling rage, and o'er the house
Spread in one mighty sea of fire. Perplexed
By this terrific dream my husband sought
The counsels of the mystic art, and thus
Pronounced the sage: "If I a daughter bore,
The murderess of his sons, the destined spring
Of ruin to our house, the baleful child
Should see the light. "

Chorus (CAJETAN and BOHEMUND).
What hast thou said, my mistress?
Woe! Woe!

ISABELLA.
For this her ruthless father spoke
The dire behest of death. I rescued her,
The innocent, the doomed one; from my arms
The babe was torn; to stay the curse of heaven,
And save my sons, the mother gave her child;
And now by robber hands her brother falls;
My child is guiltless. Oh, she slew him not!

CHORUS.
Woe! Woe!

ISABELLA.
No trust the fabling readers of the stars
Have e'er deserved. Hear how another spoke
With comfort to my soul, and him I deemed
Inspired to voice the secrets of the skies!
"My daughter should unite in love the hearts
Of my dissevered sons;" and thus their tales
Of curse and blessing on her head proclaim
Each other's falsehood. No, she ne'er has brought
A curse, the innocent; nor time was given
The blessed promise to fulfil; their tongues
Were false alike; their boasted art is vain;
With trick of words they cheat our credulous ears,
Or are themselves deceived! Naught ye may know
Of dark futurity, the sable streams
Of hell the fountain of your hidden lore,
Or yon bright spring of everlasting light!

First Chorus (CAJETAN).

Woe! Woe! thy tongue refrain!
Oh, pause, nor thus with impious rage
The might of heaven profane;
The holy oracles are wise--
Expect with awe thy coming destinies!

ISABELLA.
My tongue shall speak as prompts my swelling heart;
My griefs shall cry to heaven. Why do we lift
Our suppliant hands, and at the sacred shrines
Kneel to adore? Good, easy dupes! What win we
From faith and pious awe? to touch with prayers
The tenants of yon azure realms on high,
Were hard as with an arrow's point to pierce
The silvery moon. Hid is the womb of time,
Impregnable to mortal glance, and deaf
The adamantine walls of heaven rebound
The voice of anguish:--Oh, 'tis one, whate'er
The flight of birds--the aspect of the stars!
The book of nature is a maze--a dream
The sage's art--and every sign a falsehood!

Second Chorus (BOHEMUND).

Woe! Woe! Ill-fated woman, stay
Thy maddening blasphemies;
Thou but disown'st, with purblind eyes,
The flaming orb of day!
Confess the gods,--they dwell on high--
They circle thee with awful majesty!

All the Knights.

Confess the gods--they dwell on high--
They circle thee with awful majesty!

BEATRICE.
Why hast thou saved thy daughter, and defied
The curse of heaven, that marked me in thy womb
The child of woe? Short-sighted mother! --vain
Thy little arts to cheat the doom declared
By the all-wise interpreters, that knit
The far and near; and, with prophetic ken,
See the late harvest spring in times unborn.
Oh, thou hast brought destruction on thy race,
Withholding from the avenging gods their prey;
Threefold, with new embittered rage, they ask
The direful penalty; no thanks thy boon
Of life deserves--the fatal gift was sorrow!

Second Chorus (BERENGAR) looking towards the door
with signs of agitation.

Hark to the sound of dread!
The rattling, brazen din I hear!
Of hell-born snakes the hissing tones are near!
Yes--'tis the furies' tread!

CAJETAN.

In crumbling ruin wide,
Fall, fall, thou roof, and sink, thou trembling floor
That bear'st the dread, unearthly stride!
Ye sable damps arise!
Mount from the abyss in smoky spray,
And pall the brightness of the day!
Vanish, ye guardian powers!
They come! The avenging deities

DON CAESAR, ISABELLA, BEATRICE. The Chorus.

[On the entrance of DON CAESAR the Chorus station themselves
before him imploringly. He remains standing alone in the
centre of the stage.

BEATRICE.
Alas! 'tis he----

ISABELLA (stepping to meet him).
My Caesar! Oh, my son!
And is it thus I meet the? Look! Behold!
The crime of hand accursed!

[She leads him to the corpse.

First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR).

Break forth once more
Ye wounds! Flow, flow, in swarthy flood,
Thou streaming gore!

ISABELLA.
Shuddering with earnest gaze, and motionless,
Thou stand'st. --yes! there my hopes repose, and all
That earth has of thy brother; in the bud
Nipped is your concord's tender flower, nor ever
With beauteous fruit shall glad a mother's eyes,

DON CAESAR.
Be comforted; thy sons, with honest heart,
To peace aspired, but heaven's decree was blood!

ISABELLA.
I know thou lovedst him well; I saw between ye,
With joy, the bands old Nature sweetly twined;
Thou wouldst have borne him in thy heart of hearts
With rich atonement of long wasted years!
But see--fell murder thwarts thy dear design,
And naught remains but vengeance!

DON CAESAR.
Come, my mother,
This is no place for thee. Oh, haste and leave
This sight of woe.

[He endeavors to drag her away.

ISABELLA (throwing herself into his arms).
Thou livest! I have a son!

BEATRICE.
Alas! my mother!

DON CAESAR.
On this faithful bosom
Weep out thy pains; nor lost thy son,--his love
Shall dwell immortal in thy Caesar's breast.

First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR, MANFRED).

Break forth, ye wounds!
Dumb witness! the truth proclaim;
Flow fast, thou gory stream!

ISABELLA (clasping the hands of DON CAESAR and BEATRICE).
My children!

DON CAESAR.
Oh, 'tis ecstasy! my mother,
To see her in thy arms! henceforth in love
A daughter--sister----

ISABELLA (interrupting him).
Thou hast kept thy word.
My son; to thee I owe the rescued one;
Yes, thou hast sent her----

DON CAESAR (in astonishment).
Whom, my mother, sayst thou,
That I have sent?

ISABELLA.
She stands before thine eyes--
Thy sister.

DON CAESAR.
She! My sister?

ISABELLA.
Ay, What other?

DON CAESAR.
My sister!

ISABELLA.
Thou hast sent her to me!

DON CAESAR.
Horror!
His sister, too!

CHORUS.
Woe! woe!

BEATRICE.
Alas! my mother!

ISABELLA.
Speak! I am all amaze!

DON CASAR.
Be cursed the day
When I was born!

ISABELLA.
Eternal powers!

DON CAESAR.
Accursed
The womb that bore me; cursed the secret arts,
The spring of all this woe; instant to crush thee,
Though the dread thunder swept--ne'er should this arm
Refrain the bolts of death: I slew my brother!
Hear it and tremble! in her arms I found him;
She was my love, my chosen bride; and he--
My brother--in her arms! Thou hast heard all!
If it be true--oh, if she be my sister--
And his! then I have done a deed that mocks
The power of sacrifice and prayers to ope
The gates of mercy to my soul!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

The tidings on thy heart dismayed
Have burst, and naught remains; behold!
'Tis come, nor long delayed,
Whate'er the warning seers foretold:
They spoke the message from on high,
Their lips proclaimed resistless destiny!
The mortal shall the curse fulfil
Who seeks to turn predestined ill.

ISABELLA.
The gods have done their worst; if they be true
Or false, 'tis one--for nothing they can add
To this--the measure of their rage is full.
Why should I tremble that have naught to fear?
My darling son lies murdered, and the living
I call my son no more. Oh! I have borne
And nourished at my breast a basilisk
That stung my best-beloved child. My daughter, haste,
And leave this house of horrors--I devote it
To the avenging fiends! In an evil hour
'Twas crime that brought me hither, and of crime
The victim I depart. Unwillingly
I came--in sorrow I have lived--despairing
I quit these halls; on me, the innocent,
Descends this weight of woe! Enough--'tis shown
That Heaven is just, and oracles are true!

[Exit, followed by DIEGO.

BEATRICE, DON CAESAR, the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (detaining BEATRICE).
My sister, wouldst thou leave me? On this head
A mother's curse may fall--a brother's blood
Cry with accusing voice to heaven--all nature
Invoke eternal vengeance on my soul--
But thou--oh! curse me not--I cannot bear it!

[BEATRICE points with averted eyes to the body.

I have not slain thy lover! 'twas thy brother,
And mine that fell beneath my sword; and near
As the departed one, the living owns
The ties of blood: remember, too, 'tis I
That most a sister's pity need--for pure
His spirit winged its flight, and I am guilty!

[BEATRICE bursts into an agony of tears.

Weep! I will blend my tears with thine--nay, more,
I will avenge thy brother; but the lover--
Weep not for him--thy passionate, yearning tears
My inmost heart. Oh! from the boundless depths
Of our affliction, let me gather this,
The last and only comfort--but to know
That we are dear alike. One lot fulfilled
Has made our rights and wretchedness the same;
Entangled in one snare we fall together,
Three hapless victims of unpitying fate,
And share the mournful privilege of tears.
But when I think that for the lover more
Than for the brother bursts thy sorrow's tide,
Then rage and envy mingle with my pain,
And hope's last balm forsakes my withering soul?
Nor joyful, as beseems, can I requite
This inured shade:--yet after him content
To mercy's throne my contrite spirit shall fly,
Sped by this hand--if dying I may know
That in one urn our ashes shall repose,
With pious office of a sister's care.

[He throws his arms around her with passionate tenderness.

I loved thee, as I ne'er had loved before,
When thou wert strange; and that I bear the curse
Of brother's blood, 'tis but because I loved thee
With measureless transport: love was all my guilt,
But now thou art my sister, and I claim
Soft pity's tribute.

[He regards her with inquiring glances, and an air of
painful suspense--then turns away with vehemence.

No! in this dread presence
I cannot bear these tears--my courage flies
And doubt distracts my soul. Go, weep in secret--
Leave me in error's maze--but never, never,
Behold me more: I will not look again
On thee, nor on thy mother. Oh! how passion
Laid bare her secret heart! She never loved me!
She mourned her best-loved son--that was her cry
Of grief--and naught was mine but show of fondness!
And thou art false as she! make no disguise--
Recoil with horror from my sight--this form
Shall never shock thee more--begone forever!

[Exit.

[She stands irresolute in a tumult of conflicting
passions--then tears herself from the spot.

Chorus (CAJETAN).

Happy the man--his lot I prize
That far from pomps and turmoil vain,
Childlike on nature's bosom lies
Amid the stillness of the plain.
My heart is sad in the princely hall,
When from the towering pride of state,
I see with headlong ruin fall,
How swift! the good and great!
And he--from fortune's storm at rest
Smiles, in the quiet haven laid
Who, timely warned, has owned how blest
The refuge of the cloistered shade;
To honor's race has bade farewell,
Its idle joys and empty shows;
Insatiate wishes learned to quell,
And lulled in wisdom's calm repose:--
No more shall passion's maddening brood
Impel the busy scenes to try,
Nor on his peaceful cell intrude
The form of sad humanity!
'Mid crowds and strife each mortal ill
Abides'--the grisly train of woe
Shuns like the pest the breezy hill,
To haunt the smoky marts below.

BERENGAR, BOHEMUND, and MANFRED.

On the mountains is freedom! the breath of decay
Never sullies the fresh flowing air;
Oh, Nature is perfect wherever we stray;
'Tis man that deforms it with care.

The whole Chorus repeats.

On the mountains is freedom, etc. , etc.

DON CAESAR, the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (more collected).
I use the princely rights--'tis the last time--
To give this body to the ground, and pay
Fit honors to the dead. So mark, my friends,
My bosom's firm resolve, and quick fulfil
Your lord's behest. Fresh in your memory lives
The mournful pomp, when to the tomb ye bore
So late my royal sire; scarce in these halls
Are stilled the echoes of the funeral wail;
Another corpse succeeds, and in the grave
Weighs down its fellow-dust--almost our torch
With borrowed lustre from the last, may pierce
The monumental gloom; and on the stair,
Blends in one throng confused two mourning trains.